


Grace Note

by speccygeekgrrl



Series: you brought the sunlight in [4]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Devotion, Fluff, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Tattoos, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince decides some permanent ornamentation is in order. Howard approves strongly of the choice he makes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace Note

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from Take Off Your Boots and Stay A While, a few months later. It's not necessary to have read it, but there is some reference, and it does fit into a continuity in my head, and it looks like there's probably going to be more that fits in the continuity, so... well, I hope you enjoy it!

Vince is leaning up to get their mugs out of the cabinet when Howard asks, "What happened there?"

"Hmm?" Vince hastily tugs down the hem of his t-shirt, but it's too late already. He should have known this might happen when he put on the low-slung jeans, but he wasn't thinking about much other than keeping pressure off while it healed...

"That bandage, what is that? Did you hurt yourself? Another straightener burn?" Howard looks concerned. He reaches out to touch Vince's flank, but Vince dodges neatly, covering the bandaged spot with one hand.

"No, not really." 

"Well, what happened, then? Usually if you get hurt you whinge about it for hours."

"I didn't get hurt, then, did I?" Not quite the truth-- it hurt like a bitch, still stings a bit the day after, but he didn't get hurt the way he knows Howard means, an accident or a mishap, the result of some clumsiness or absent-mindedness. "Leave it, will you?"

"Pardon me for being concerned for your well-being," Howard sniffs, rolling his eyes as he brushes past Vince to get at the whistling kettle. 

"I was gonna show you when it healed up," Vince says mollifyingly, leaning his good hip against the kitchen table.

"Why do you think I want to look at your scars? What, let me guess, "scars are well fashionable this week,"" his imitation of Vince's cadence is spot-on, and Vince looks down and grins. "I was just asking."

"No, I mean, I was plannin' on showin' you when it looked better, but if you're going to sulk about it I suppose you can see now." He gives Howard a moment to put their tea down on the table and tugs up his t-shirt, running a nail under the edge of the bandage. "I got a tattoo."

"You never. You hate needles. And anyways, how many times have you gone on about marring your perfect skin? I don't--" Howard goes dead silent when Vince peels away the bandage, mouth hanging open, too stunned to even blink. "Oh," he finally says, very, very quietly. Vince brushes a finger across the salve-shiny surface of the tattoo, beyond pleased with the reaction. 

It's small, simple, as close to understated as someone like Vince would ever adorn their body with. Right at the crest of his hip, a delicately shadowed full moon in shades of grey, and a brightly colored blue and red star next to it. "It's a glam rock star, see? And--" The next words never make it past his lips, which are suddenly occupied with being very passionately kissed. Howard tangles one hand in Vince's hair and spreads the other one out to rest very gently over the tattoo, mindful of how pink the skin around it still looks.

"When-- why-- oh, Christ, Vince, did you really," he mutters in between kisses, too absorbed in expressing his awe physically to make a decent job of doing it verbally as well. Vince laughs, leaning into him, head falling to Howard's shoulder as he hugs him closer. "You know that's going to stay there forever, right?"

"Why'd you think I did it? Of course it's gonna stay there forever. You've only told me you'll love me forever how many times? Figured this was worth getting etched into my skin." Howard pulls back to look at it again, traces the round of the moon with one fingertip and shakes his head incredulously. "D'you like it?"

"Like it? I don't like it, I adore it. It's perfect." He traces the outline of the star next, a spiky little path that tickles against the tender skin. "A fitting adornment for your natural beauty," he says, and it's in that affectionate tone Vince can never tell if Howard's being absolutely sincere or a bit mocking. "I thought you were dead set against tattoos?"

"Yeah, well, fancied a bit of permanence for a change." Vince takes Howard's hand, threads their fingers together and squeezes gently. "Since it's workin' so well for my heart."

"You still manage to astonish me, Little Man." Howard looks up from the tattoo, brown eyes meeting blue and holding, and Vince can read the arousal in his gaze like it’s printed bold on the cover of Cheekbone. "Looks like it still hurts."

"Could do with a kiss to make it better," Vince says nonchalantly, biting his lip when Howard goes down to his knees right there. He examines the ink from close up, leans in to blow a cool breath across the heated skin before pressing the gentlest of kisses right between the star and the moon. It's a sweet gesture that goes dirty in an instant when Howard turns to nuzzle at Vince's crotch, taking him from half hard to all the way there in the brief moment it takes Howard to drag the zip down with his teeth. "Fuckin' hell!"

The kitchen is a bad place to do this, and neither of them gives a single fuck about that. Vince's hands clutch the edge of the table and he makes a breathy whimper as Howard extracts him from the confines of his skinny jeans, still thrilled at how very keen Howard is to do this for him. Practice makes perfect, and Howard's been getting in a fair bit of practice since they started making a go at this togetherness thing, to Vince's delight. He'd thought they'd need to start slow, to work into the whole touch-and-be-touched thing, but once "don't touch me" turned into "let me touch you" it was a headlong dash into intimacy from there, practically every night and some mornings, occasionally in the afternoons if there weren't any customers in the Nabootique and they could flip the sign to "closed" for fifteen minutes. But from the very first night, Howard found himself addicted to the way Vince tastes, and it feels right, somehow, in a way he tries not to examine too closely, to be on his knees for Vince, to look up his slim body and meet blue eyes blown black with lust because of what he, Howard Moon, was doing to him.

Howard settles one big hand on Vince’s hip, brushing over the tattoo with his thumb, a slow back-and-forth that makes the tender skin sting a little, just a hint of pain that serves to focus Vince’s attention entirely on what Howard’s doing. Vince tucks his chin to his chest and runs his fingers through Howard’s hair, tugging gently just to make him close his eyes in pleasure. It's stupidly hot watching while Howard teases him, holding Vince delicately with one finger and thumb, pressing kisses along his shaft that are equal parts tickling and arousing-- Vince hasn't made fun of that mocha stain moustache once since he discovered how it feels against his skin, a weird but fantastic feeling, much like its weird but fantastic wearer. "C'mon, then," he urges, "you want someone to walk in on us while you're takin' your sweet time?"

"Bit of payback for all the times they've scarred us for life," Howard says, eyes crinkled in amusement, but it's enough prodding to get past the teasing stage, at least. Vince bites down on his knuckle to keep from making too much sound when Howard takes him into his mouth-- look, just because it would be well hilarious to make Naboo have to pull out the brain bleach doesn't mean he actually wants to be interrupted mid-blowie-- but it's an uphill struggle to stay quiet when he's watching so intently while Howard swallows him down inch by glorious inch, and he absolutely can't help the loud whimper that escapes when he nudges the back of Howard's throat, not any more than he can help his hand tightening in Howard's hair, or the way his knees buckle a bit when Howard makes an answering sound that hums all the way around his length.

"Fuck, Howard, so good..." Vince trembles a bit as Howard pulls back until only the head is left between his lips and looks up to meet Vince's eyes, rolling his tongue around and somehow managing to smirk without his lips quirking upward. "You cheeky little coquette," Vince gasps, and Howard is actually laughing around him, which feels bizarre and incredible and completely fucking unfair because how's he supposed to stay quiet like this? "Please don't stop," he says, which wasn't what he intended to say but apparently was the right thing since Howard goes back to lazily bobbing his head, no urgency to the pace he's setting, thumb still rubbing back-and-forth against the tattoo where his hand is wrapped around Vince's hip.

It's genius, the little sting of pain contrasted with the luscious warmth of Howard's mouth, the way that broad hand keeps him pinned back against the table so easily when his hips try to snap forward, the thrill of doing this right here in the kitchen where they eat breakfast every day-- where they would be eating breakfast right now if Howard hadn't noticed that bandage, and Vince couldn't be more delighted that his plan to keep the tattoo a secret until it had healed had gone sideways. He shouldn't keep watching if he wants this to last, but he can't look away, either, too caught up in that tiny furrow of concentration in Howard's brow, the naked adoration in his expression, the way he tilts his head slightly into Vince's stroking hand. And then that other huge Northern mitt comes up to toy with his balls, and, well, Vince is never a model of restraint at the best of times, and if this doesn't qualify as the best of times he's not sure what exactly would, but he's done for, not even enough presence of mind to try and stifle the the way he wails, "Howard!" as he comes hard. Howard keeps sucking, straight through the finish, wringing every little shudder and whimper out of Vince that he can before releasing him, sitting back on his heels with an eminently pleased look on his face.

"You're lovely when you fall to pieces," he says, voice unsurprisingly throaty and low. "Have I told you?"

"Not in the past eight hours," Vince says a little weakly, and he pulls at Howard's shoulder until Howard gets to his feet, then flings his arms around Howard's neck. "I love you," he breathes into his ear, "have I told you?"

"You can keep telling me..." Howard flattens his hand over the tattoo and hides his grin in Vince's rumpled hair. "You've got it written on you forever. Don't think I'm likely to forget it."


End file.
